Stratemeyer Edward
Young Auctioneers: or, The Polishing of a Rolling Stone
CHAPTER XIX.
OUT OF A BAD SCRAPE
It did not take the young auctioneer long to understand the true nature of the situation in which he now found himself. The three men who had surrounded him were nothing more or less than tramps who had undoubtedly sought shelter in the shanty from the storm. That they were thoroughly unscrupulous men went without saying, and it must be confessed that Matt’s heart sank within him as he realized the danger in which he was placed.
“Let go of me!” he said sternly to the first man, who had presumed to catch him by the arm. “Let go, I say!”
“Don’t you do it, Crabs!” put in the tramp called Jake. “Hold tight to him while I tie up the hoss.”
“What do you mean to do?” demanded Matt, as he struggled to free himself, but in vain.
“You’ll learn fast enough, sonny,” returned Crabs, with a wicked grin. “Just keep quiet now, will you?”
“I certainly shall not!” retorted the young auctioneer hotly. “Do you suppose I am going to submit tamely to being robbed?”
“Who said anything about robbin’ you?” demanded the third tramp, he called Baldy, although his head was covered with a shock of hair twice as thick as either of his companions. “You had better act civil-like, sonny, if you want to get off without a licking.”
“You let me go!” went on Matt, paying no attention to the last remark. “Let go, I say – or take the consequences!”
“The consequences?” sneered him called Crabs.
“Yes – there!”
And without further warning, Matt drew back with his clinched fist and gave the tramp a stinging blow between the eyes, which caused the much surprised individual to let go his hold and stagger back to the shanty’s side.
“Ho – what – what do you mean by hitting me?” he howled.
“I told you to let go,” retorted Matt; and free from his tormentor, he essayed to leap to the wagon seat and gain possession of the heavy whip, with which he might keep the tramps at bay.
But hardly had he placed his foot on the rest than Baldy, who was now close at hand, caught him by the ankle and gave a sudden jerk, which brought Matt down on his chest and face, scratching his left cheek in two places, and giving him a severe shaking up.
“Hold the horse, Jake!” cried Baldy. “Hold the horse, and I’ll hold the boy.”
“Let me get at him!” cried Crabs, in a rage. “Just let me get at him, and I’ll teach him to strike me between the eyes!”
As he spoke he rushed past his companion, and was on the point of kicking Matt in the side when Baldy stopped him with a side dig of his ragged elbow.
“Don’t strike him if it ain’t necessary,” he said. “I’ll hold him all right enough. Come, be still now,” he went on to the young auctioneer.
Matt was on his face on the ground and Baldy was sitting on top of him, but, nevertheless, the boy did not intend to give up the struggle.
He squirmed and twisted this way and that until finally free, and then, before the tramp could catch him again, he sprang to his feet and leaped upon the foot-rest of the wagon.
“Stand back there, all of you!” he cried determinedly, and the next instant had the whip and was flourishing it over the heads of those below him.
“See that! he’s got away from you!” cried Crabs to Baldy, in tones of deep disgust. “Now don’t you wish you had let me tend to him?”
“Stick to the horse, Jake!” cried Baldy, ignoring the last remark. “I’ll soon have the young fellow on the ground again.”
“Let go of that horse!” commanded Matt. “Let go, or I’ll lash you right and left!”
The tramp called Jake looked up into the young auctioneer’s face at these words. Evidently he did not like the looks of the set lines about Matt’s mouth, for without delay he obeyed the order, and stepped back. Lie had hardly done so before Matt struck Billy a light blow, and off went the horse at quite a respectable gait, leaving the three would-be plunderers standing staring after the turn-out in wonder and disgust!
“Phew! but that was a narrow escape!” gasped Matt, to himself, as he caught up the lines and gave Billy another tap. “I suppose I ought to be thankful that I was not robbed of everything in my keeping. Those fellows looked wicked enough to do almost anything.”
After he had gone on some little distance he leaned out of the wagon to see if he was being pursued. But the tramps had deemed it unwise to follow him, and once more the young auctioneer had the road to himself.
It was not long before the houses of High Bridge appeared in sight. At the first place the young auctioneer asked for directions to the hotel, and here he had the wagon and horse safely stabled, and then went to the room which had been assigned to him to change every article of clothing he wore.
He had ordered a hot meal to be served, and when he came down he found the table spread for him.
“Got caught in the shower, eh?” questioned the hotel-keeper, as Matt sat down.
“Yes, indeed,” returned the boy, and he related the particulars of his adventures while eating, not forgetting to mention the three tramps.
“Those three rascals have been bothering folks around here for quite a bit,” remarked the hotel-keeper after he had finished. “The constable is after ’em now, but I don’t think he’ll catch ’em, for they slide around from place to place. You can bet on it that they are miles away from that shanty by this time.”
“Well, I trust that I never fall in with them again,” returned Matt with a slight shudder.
“Going to hold an auction?” went on the hotel-keeper curiously.
“That’s what I expect to do. I would like to find some good spot. Where would be the best place for me to locate, do you think?”
The hotel-keeper thought for a moment.
“Well, most of the folks come around here and over across the way to the general stores. But I reckon the store-keepers won’t like you around much.”
“They never do – but I can’t help that. I’ve got to make a living as well as they.”
“That’s true. Tell you what you might do. There’s the old paint-shop next door. You can use that for an auction place if you are a mind to be liberal for the use of it,” said the hotel-keeper.
As soon as he had finished Matt went out and inspected the old paint-shop. He found it would do very well for his purpose, and on returning offered the hotel-keeper a good pocket-knife for its use for the following day. This offer was at once accepted, and Matt set to work without delay to get the place into shape.
By nightfall he was ready for business. In the meantime, he had sent a couple of small boys around to all the houses in the neighborhood to notify the folks of the sale, and as a consequence, by eight o’clock he had the shop quite comfortably filled.
Without waiting to see if Andy might return on the late evening train, Matt started up business, and inside of half an hour had matters in full swing. He opened up with a lot of goods which the folks appeared to need, and they sold readily, much to the disgust of one of the proprietors of the regular stores, who came over to see what was going on.
“Humph! it’s only a boy!” he muttered, but loud enough for all to hear. “What does he know about the goods he is selling? Like as not they are second-handed, and all shop-worn.”
“These goods are strictly new, and of the latest designs,” called out Matt, looking squarely at the man. “They are direct from New York, and I venture to say cannot be duplicated in High Bridge at the price at which I am knocking them down for. Now, ladies and gentlemen, what am I offered for this elegant family album, bound in plush, with sliver-plated clasps?”
“One dollar!” called a rustic, standing close at hand.
“A dollar and a quarter!” shouted a farmer near the door.
“See here, Podders, you ought to buy your things of me,” whispered the keeper of the general store to the latter bidder. “I trust you till the money for crops comes in.”
“So you do – and I pay you for the accommodation, too,” retorted the farmer.
“I can sell you an album for half the money he’ll charge you.”
“I don’t know about that,” returned the farmer, with a shake of his head.
“Yes, I can. Come on over to the store and see.”
“I want to watch this sale first.”
By this time another person had offered a dollar and a half for the album, and Matt was hard at work trying to get a raise on this figure. But he overheard the store-keeper’s words, and his face flushed with indignation. He stopped short, and pointed directly at the man.
“Will you please come forward a moment?” he asked, in a loud and clear tone.
“What – what’s that?” stammered the store-keeper, taken by surprise.
“I asked you if you would please come forward.”
“What for?”
“I wish to ask you what right you have to come in here and endeavor to take away my possible customers?”
“Why, you – I ain’t taken any one away.”
“But you were just trying to induce that man to leave – told him you could sell him an album for half the money I would charge.”
“What if I did – I can, too.”
“I doubt it. If you could, folks would not flock to such an auction-sale as this. They come here because they can get things cheap – because they are not overcharged, as they are in some places – because they are told the truth about goods – because they like to see a boy get along in spite of what some mean man may do to take away his business – because they – ”
But Matt could go no further. His unexpected speech brought forth a sudden applause that for the moment drowned out every other sound.
CHAPTER XX.
ACCUSED OF STEALING
It was plain to see that the store-keeper who had thus thrust himself into the young auctioneer’s business was not in high favor with the residents of the country town. To tell the truth, the man was not liked by any one, and was only patronized by force of circumstances or through long-standing habit. He was a thoroughly mean man, and the fact that his trade had been falling off steadily for several years had not tended to sweeten his temper.
“Thet’s one on Ike Marvelling, sure!” laughed a young man near the auction stand.
“Yes, an’ Ike deserves it,” returned a woman beside him. “He has no right to come in here and abuse the boy.”
“That’s so, he ain’t,” added another woman.
“Ike was always high-priced in everything,” remarked a jolly-faced farmer. “If he had Pickle Mountain to sell he would want double price for it.”
This bit of humor caused a laugh at the store-keeper’s expense, and put him in even worse humor than had Matt’s caustic remarks.
“See here, I didn’t come in here to be abused!” he cried, addressing the young auctioneer in a bullying tone.
“You were not asked in here at all, to my knowledge,” returned Matt. “And you should have remained away unless you intended to do the right thing.”
“See here, boy, what do you mean?”
“What would you think of me if I came over to your store and told your customers that I could sell them goods cheaper than you could? I rather guess you would be for running me out – and mighty lively, too!”
“That he would!” laughed several. “He wouldn’t give you time to open your mouth.”
“I came in here because I know all these auction sales – they ain’t really auctions at all – are frauds!” blustered Isaac Marvelling, finding it hard to say anything in the face of so much opposition. “These chaps oughten to be allowed to sell a thing – they swindle folks so, and if I had my way, the constable would – ”
“Stop right there!” interrupted Matt, his eyes flashing. “When you insinuate that I am a swindler, you go too far. You must take back those words!”
“Must I?” sneered the store-keeper. “Well, I reckon not.”
“Very well, then.” Matt turned to several men standing by the door. “Will one of you gentlemen kindly call in the constable or some other officer?”
“What – what do you mean?” asked Isaac Marvelling in a lower tone, and much disturbed.
“I mean to have you put out as a disorderly character, that’s what I mean,” returned Matt firmly. “I have paid my license, and so long as I do business on the square I do not intend to allow any one to bulldoze me or call me a swindler.”
“That’s right! That’s right!” cried several men in the crowd, and the woman who had first spoken nodded approvingly.
“You’re a mighty big boy!” sneered the store-keeper, but all noticed that he retreated several steps toward the open doorway.
“I am big enough to defend myself,” replied the young auctioneer quickly. “I want you to leave. I am no more of a swindler than you are – perhaps not as much. I am conducting this business on an honest basis, and I will not stand by and let you or any one else blacken my character.”
“We’ll see – we’ll see,” muttered Isaac Marvelling, and greatly enraged, but unable to say a word in his own defense, and fearful that an officer might appear, he withdrew.
This little incident served to make Matt many friends. People always like to see persons stick up for their rights, and in this particular case they were pleased to see the mean store-keeper “talked-down,” as he well deserved to be.
The album was again put up, and after considerable talking was knocked down to Podders, the very individual Isaac Marvelling had endeavored to persuade away from the sale. Matt purposely let Podders have the album quite cheaply, and as soon as it was his Podders declared he would call at Marvelling’s store and see if it could be duplicated at the price he had paid.
The young auctioneer knew this could not be done, and he offered to buy the album back at double the price should Podders succeed.
This pleased the farmer, and also many others, and, as a consequence, Matt had a brisk run of luck until closing-up time. The boy felt highly elated, especially when, on counting up the cash, he found he had taken in sixteen dollars, one third of which was profit.
On the following morning another heavy rain came up, and Matt found it of no advantage to open up for business. Shortly after dinner Andy came back from New York, and to him Matt related all that had occurred.
“That’s right, Matt, always stick up when you are in the right, and you’ll come out on top,” said the senior partner of the firm.
Andy had struck several decided bargains in goods in the metropolis, and had invested every dollar of available cash. He had had all of the goods shipped to Phillipsburg, the next stopping place, and said they would most likely find them at the freight depot upon their arrival there.
During the afternoon it cleared up, and people began to drift into the shop. Andy opened up the sale, and by evening both of the partners were quite busy. When he went to supper Matt saw Isaac Marvelling, but the store-keeper only favored him with a deep scowl.
“I suppose he would like to chew my head off if he dared,” laughed the young auctioneer, as he related the occurrence to Andy.
“No doubt of it, Matt. He feels sore, especially as we are selling just such goods as he has displayed in his window, and at about half the price.”
“Well, we won’t worry him after to-night,” smiled Matt, for the start for Phillipsburg was to be made on the following morning.
After closing up the sale that night, the wagon was once more packed, so that they might be on the way at an early hour. The stock on hand was growing lighter, and they were glad to know that more goods would await them upon their arrival.
“We are doing famously,” remarked Andy. “If we keep on we shall soon be rich.”
“I want to pay back Miss Bartlett what she loaned me as soon as I can.”
“I reckon she is in no hurry. You had better keep some cash on hand in case of an emergency.”
The work of selling goods and packing the wagon had tired Matt considerably, but his mind was too much aroused to go to sleep at once, and so he started out for a short walk before retiring.
He knew very little of the roads around the village, but he was confident that he would not get lost, especially as it was a bright starlight night.
He passed the shop where the sales had been conducted, and then branched off on a road that but a short distance away crossed a tiny brook.
At the brook he paused, and then, struck with a sudden fancy, he left the bridge to go down and bathe his hands and face in the cool, running water.
He had hardly leaped from the bridge to the rocks below when a sudden noise beside him caused him to start back. Almost at the same time a dark form passed under the bridge and was lost to view in the bushes beyond. It looked somewhat like the form of a man, but Matt was not sure.
“That was queer,” thought the young auctioneer, as he paused, in perplexity. “Was that a man, or only some animal?”
Disturbed at the occurrence, Matt leaped up upon the bridge again, without having touched the water. He had hardly come up into the starlight when two men came rushing toward him from the road.
“Who’s that?” cried one of the men.
“That must be the man!” cried the other, and Matt recognized Isaac Marvelling’s voice. “Catch hold of him, Jackson.”
In another moment the two men stood beside Matt. As he recognized the young auctioneer, Isaac Marvelling set up a cry of surprise and triumph.
“I told you so!” he declared. “I said them auction fellows weren’t no better than thieves! This is the chap that broke in my store, Jackson, I feel sure of it! I want him arrested, and you had better handcuff him so that he can’t get away from you! No wonder they can sell cheap, when they steal their goods!”
CHAPTER XXI.
THE TELL-TALE CAP
For the moment Matt could do little more than stare at the two men that confronted him. In a dim way he realized that Isaac Marvelling’s store had been entered and robbed, and that the mean-minded store-keeper fully believed that he was the guilty party.
“Are you a-holding him, Jackson?” went on Isaac Marvelling anxiously. “Look out, or he may slip away from you.”
“I’ve got him, right enough,” returned Jackson, one of the local constables. “He’ll have hard work to get away.”
“What does this mean?” demanded the young auctioneer, aroused at last to the necessity of doing something in his own behalf. “Let go of me!”
“Oh, no, not just yet!” returned Jackson. “You’re wanted, and you know it.”
“That’s right, Jackson, don’t let him slip you!” put in Marvelling eagerly. “He’s a good talker, but don’t let that count with you.”
“Will you tell me what I am wanted for?” asked Matt.
“For entering his store and stealing a lot of cutlery and jewelry,” returned the constable.
“Forty-five dollars’ worth,” added Marvelling. “And all new stock, too! Oh, you thought you would get away with it mighty smart-like, didn’t you?” he sneered.
“I haven’t been near your store, and I know nothing about the theft,” was Matt’s steady reply.
“But we saw you run away from the store and come down here, didn’t we, Jackson?”
“We certainly did,” returned the constable, with a grave shake of his head.
“You saw me?” gasped Matt, starting back.
“Exactly,” said Isaac Marvelling. “I heard you run out of the yard behind the store right after I had called in Jackson to tell him about the robbery. We both saw you jump the fence and skip off in this direction.”
“You might as well own up to what you have done,” added the constable. “It won’t do you any good to deny it.”
For the moment Matt did not reply to this. He was thinking of what had occurred at the bridge just before the two men had reached it. Could it be possible that the dark object which had left the place when he had arrived was the thief, rooted out of what he had considered a safe hiding-place?
“How near were you to me when you saw me first?” he asked of Marvelling.
“We were near enough.”
“Did you see my face?”
“Never mind if we did or not.”
“No, I must say I didn’t see your face,” said the constable, who, although a friend of the store-keeper, was yet disposed to be fair and square.
“You probably saw a man, and he ran in this direction,” went on Matt.
“We saw you,” said Marvelling doggedly. “March him back to the store, Jackson, and we’ll make him confess where he has placed the stolen stuff. He doesn’t seem to have it with him.”
“If you wish to get back your goods you had better listen to what I have to say,” returned Matt, trying to keep down his rising temper. “I did not enter your store, but perhaps I can put you on the track of the party who did.”
“Oh, pshaw! that’s all talk!” snarled Isaac Marvelling. “March him back, Jackson.”
“It won’t do any harm to listen to his story,” said the constable meekly. “I reckon you want to get the goods back more than anything.”
“Of course! of course!” responded the store-keeper eagerly. “I can’t afford to lose forty-five dollars’ worth of stuff at once.”
“You say you didn’t do the job, and that you think you can put us on the right track?”
“I think I can do something for you,” returned Matt.
And in a few brief words he told how he happened to be at the bridge and what he had seen. The constable listened with deep interest, but Isaac Marvelling pooh-poohed the whole story.
“He’s a good one at telling ’em,” said the store-keeper. “I don’t place no credit in what he says.”
“Well, it won’t do any harm to investigate,” replied Jackson. “You hold him, while I light my lantern and take a look under the bridge.”
“He may try to get away from me,” said Marvelling, as he surveyed Matt’s tall and well-built form with some trepidation. “He would most likely do anything to keep out of jail.”
“I have more at stake than you have,” cried the young auctioneer.
“Indeed?”
“Yes, sir. I consider my reputation worth considerably more than a paltry forty-five dollars.”
“Do you? Well, to me the reputation of a traveling and swindling auctioneer isn’t worth much!” grumbled Isaac Marvelling.
“You may regret those words,” was Matt’s brief reply; and for the time being he said no more.
In the meanwhile Jackson had struck a match and lit the somewhat smoky lantern he carried.
Seeing to it that Matt was safe in Marvelling’s custody, the constable sprang down from the bridge to the rocks below. A second later he disappeared under the bridge.
The two above heard him rummaging around in the loose stones and among the brush for all of five minutes. Both listened for some call from him, the store-keeper all the while keeping a tight hold on Matt’s arm.
“Well, have you found anything?” cried the store-keeper at last, unable longer to stand the suspense.
“I have,” returned Jackson, and a second later he appeared again, holding in his hand a carving-knife and two spoons.
“Found these under the bridge,” he explained, as he clambered up upon the structure again. “They are your goods, I take it.”
“Of course they are my goods!” cried Isaac Marvelling, as he glanced at the articles. “Is that all?” he went on disappointedly.
“That’s all I could find. There may be more there or in the water.”
“This young rascal threw them there!” cried the store-keeper, shaking Matt’s arm savagely. “You imp! tell me where the other things are at once, or I’ll skin you alive!”
“Look here, Mr. Marvelling; I want you to let go of me and be reasonable,” returned Matt, as calmly as he could. “I am not a thief. If I was, would I tell the story I did, or send down your companion to find those things? My story about that object under the bridge is true, and, to my way of thinking, it was the thief you saw jump the fence and run in this direction. When I sprang down to bathe my face and hands he got scared and ran out on the other side of the bridge, and in his hurry he must have dropped the things which have been found.”
“Stuff and nonsense!”
“His story may be true,” put in Jackson mildly.
“My advice is to follow up the brook and see if you cannot track the thief,” went on the young auctioneer. “And do not lose any time in doing it.”
“And what will become of you?” sneered the store-keeper.
“I will go with you, if you wish.”
“That’s a good idea,” said the constable. “Come, let us start without delay. If we can’t find anybody we can take the boy to the lock-up, anyway.”
Isaac Marvelling grumbled, but at last consented, and soon all three were down under the bridge. Here it was pitch-dark, and the feeble rays of the lantern only lit up a circle that was less than three yards in diameter.
In hopes of clearing himself, more than for the purpose of aiding Isaac Marvelling in the recovery of the goods, Matt set to work with a will.
“Here is another spoon,” he said presently, and he handed over a silver-plated affair, which at the most was not worth fifteen cents, wholesale.
“Here are a couple of knives,” added Jackson. “And here is a bit of paper some of the stuff must have been wrapped in.”
“Look here!” suddenly cried Matt, as he pointed down into the water. “Here’s a man’s cap, and it looks as if it had just fallen in, for one side of the peak is not yet wet.”
“Let me see that cap,” returned the constable quickly.
He snatched it from Matt’s hand and turned with it to the lantern. His examination lasted but a few seconds.
“Say, Marvelling, have you seen anything of old Joe Yedley lately?” he asked, turning to the store-keeper.
“Yedley? Why, yes; he was in the store begging, only yesterday,” was the reply. “But what has he – ”
“Did you give him anything?”
“Give him anything?” cried Marvelling wrathfully. “Not a cent! I told him to clear out; that I didn’t want him to ever come in again. I have no use for beggars.”
“Did he go near the case with the cutlery and jewelry in it?”
“Humph! I suppose he did. But what has he to do with this?”
“This is Joe Yedley’s cap; I would know it out of a thousand. He is an old offender, and it is more than likely that he is the thief!”
